Men of Honor
by shandiss
Summary: RangeMan remembers those who served.


_All characters belong to Janet Evanovich. Inspired by "Men of Honor" by Two Steps from Hell._

Her world of comfort and warmth moved, filling with the wonderful aroma of fresh-brewed coffee with just the right hint of sugar and cream. Stephanie Plum Manoso surfaced from sleep and stretched underneath the thousand-count sheets.

She smiled at her husband of six months where he sat on the edge of the bed, holding a very large mug of coffee. Ricardo Carlos Manoso, CEO of RangeMan, Inc., street name of Ranger, was already dressed in the formal uniform of his unit, and the smile he gave her back did not quite reach his eyes as he fitted the mug into her reaching hand.

"Good morning, Babe."

"Mmm. Morning." She sniffed at the coffee, savoring its smell before taking the first sip. The warm liquid slid down her throat and her brain kick-started. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes." Ranger got up. "Breakfast just came."

Steph didn't waste time dithering over the short interval. She slid out of the bed, coffee clutched firmly in her hand, and hurried to the bathroom. Today of all days, she wasn't going to be late. Today was about something far more important than her hair or eyeliner.

Ten minutes later, she came out of the bedroom dressed in a tailored business suit to find Ranger lacing up his boots by the breakfast bar. The bagels and fruit set out on the counter didn't interest her as much as usual this morning. She ate half of a bagel and nibbled on a strawberry before putting it to the side. Ranger, she noted, hadn't eaten at all.

"How long?" asked Steph as Ranger adjusted his beret.

He didn't look at the clock. "Two minutes. You ready?"

Steph looked hard at him, seeing the tension in the set of his shoulders and the line of his jaw. She went to him, placing a hand on either side of his beautiful face and waiting until his dark eyes met hers.

"I love you," she said simply. "And I'm ready."

The corner of his mouth tipped up a little, the best he could do for a smile today, and he took her hand from his face and placed a gentle kiss on the palm. Without speaking, he drew her towards the door.

They rode down in the elevator in silence, standing side by side instead of in their usual positions. Ranger kept hold of her hand, his only concession for his need to touch her. As the floor indicator for the basement lit up, he released her and straightened.

The doors slid open, revealing the garage filled with trucks and SUVs that were not black. For this day, the distinctive black SUVs of RangeMan would not be used. Today, it was personal.

The entire complement of Merry Men stood in a double line, each in the dress uniform of their branch of service, or in formal business attire, as Steph was. They stood at ease, from Hector nearest the elevator to Tank at the farthest end, until Ranger took the first step off the elevator.

"Atten-shun!"

The command echoed off the concrete. Steph hesitated a half-second, then steeled herself to keep going. Ranger needed her to be by his side, and no matter how small or insignificant she felt among these men, she wasn't going to let him down.

Throwing her shoulders back, she caught up to Ranger and walked with him to the head of the line. The Cayenne was parked closest to the street, next to Tank's crew cab truck and Lester's Escalade.

Ranger stopped beside Tank and returned the salute. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir. All present and accounted for." Tank's expression was stern beneath his beret.

"Move out." Ranger took a deep breath as if to add something, but then thought better of it. He nodded to Steph, and she went to the passenger side of the Cayenne and climbed in.

Ranger slid behind the wheel and reached into the console compartment, fishing out two comm units with ear buds and mikes. Her fingers trembled as she took hers from him, and Ranger gripped her hand slightly before letting go. She couldn't manage much more of a smile than he had, but he nodded in understanding.

The hiss of the open channel increased her nerves. It meant it was almost time, and she tried to focus on breathing to quiet her nerves. This was her first year taking part, and she had studied and practiced for the last two weeks, going over and over the entire route until she knew it by heart.

The Cayenne purred to life and Ranger checked that the others were clear before backing up. The barrier at the entrance rose smoothly, and as the SUV's front tires crossed the threshold, Ram's voice broke the comm silence.

"Old Hill Burying Ground, Concord, Massachusetts."

Steph's heart skipped a beat, and she clenched her hands in her lap as she counted off five seconds in her head. Zero was the next one on the roster. His voice came over as Ranger turned right on Hamilton.

"Old Quaker Cemetery, Camden, South Carolina."

So it went, as the single file of vehicles left RangeMan and followed the Cayenne towards the river and then north. As they passed through the Sunday-quiet streets of Trenton, the litany of places where veterans of the American Armed Forces had found their rest went on at measured intervals.

"Granary Burying Ground, Boston, Massachusetts."

The river slid by to their left, rolling beneath the morning sun as sparkles danced on the surface like stars.

"Oak Hill Cemetery, Birmingham, Alabama."

Trees flashed by, a tumble of rich greens from a wet spring that deepened the blue of the cloudless sky above.

"Fort Snelling National Cemetery, Minneapolis, Minnesota."

The names were divided between the different RangeMan offices, each one taking a different roster in turn. When Ranger started the tradition, the names were assigned according to length of service, but after the first year they were awarded by lot. Only one name was never changed, and it was spoken only once in the place where they were headed.

"Texas State Cemetery, Austin, Texas."

The names changed as they drove, became farther flung from the places first settled by the colonists as a young nation grew and began to look outward.

"Mexico City National Cemetery, Mexico."

Steph forgot to breathe, nearly lost the count in her head, but Ranger took a hand from the steering wheel and gripped hers tightly. She swallowed hard.

"Flanders Field American Cemetery, Waregem, Belgium."

The words came out as she had rehearsed them, perfectly cadenced and without a stammer. Steph flushed as Ranger gave her hand a squeeze and let go, but she couldn't help the feeling of triumph. She had done it, and done it well.

"Aisne-Marne American Cemetery, Belleau, France."

A flare of light in the sky out her window startled Steph, and she glanced up to see the sunlight on the silver skin of a jet flying in formation with three others. The L-39s were headed north, streaking ahead of the line of RangeMan vehicles, and she glanced at Ranger. He didn't take his eyes off the road, and both his hands gripped the steering wheel hard as they turned east just past Titusville.

"Manila American Cemetery, Manila, Philippines."

They continued through the small town, past the flags hanging from light poles in preparation for the parade tomorrow. The fabric lifted and fluttered in the gentle breeze, just enough to ripple the stripes of red and white.

"Epinal American Cemetery, Dinoze, France."

A mile beyond the town, Ranger turned north again on a gravel road. The washboard surface thrummed through the tires and a cloud of tan dust rose behind the SUVs.

"Corozal American Cemetery, Panama City, Panama."

The trees closed around them on both sides, their towering branches shading the road to a cool dimness. Steph felt the lump rise in her throat again; they were close to the end of the journey, and there were but four names left.

"North African American Cemetery, Tunis, Tunisia."

Lester's voice was somber, with no trace of the merriment that usually marked his words. Steph remembered his expression when he'd drawn this name, and the soft explanation from Ranger that one of Lester's missions had taken him to North Africa, many years ago.

A narrow road, not much more than a track in the tall grass, showed in a break of the trees. Ranger slowed down and turned, aiming the Cayenne at what seemed nothing more than a forgotten field road.

"National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, Honolulu, Hawaii."

Bobby's measured tones gave no indication that he'd been posted to Pearl Harbor for part of his medical training, and spent hours walking through the burial ground high above the city. He'd paid his respects to the men there, and to those who slept beneath the waters of Battleship Row.

The vehicles parked along the fence of the small graveyard and the Merry Men got out. They lined up in the double rows again as Tank spoke the second to the last name, a place of peace near where the men of the Army Rangers had scaled a cliff under suppressive fire and consecrated the ground they took with their own life's blood.

"Normandy American Cemetery, Colleville-sur-Mer, France."

The men saluted then, rendering honor to the dead here, their brothers in arms, as Ranger spoke the final name.

"Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia." He paused. "United States of America."

The final four words, enunciated clearly, were meant to reassure those who had fought for an ideal that was not yet a country, or a country too young to be torn asunder by a civil war, or too strong to believe they would fight not one but two wars that encompassed the world. Four words that said the country, and the freedom, are still here.

 _ **We**_ _are still here._

The lines broke then as each man went to the vehicles and brought out the decorations. Each flower bundle held four roses; three red for faith, honor and courage, and one white for the virtue of the freedom they fought to preserve.

Steph gathered up the roses in the back of the Cayenne, handing them out as they were needed. She caught glimpses of the different Merry Men gently placing the flowers on the graves, then stepping back one pace and saluting. Hal in his Marine dress blues, knelt to set the roses before a weathered grey headstone. The final date on it showed that the man had lived long enough to see his country become a reality; on the stones around him were the names of his wife and his sons, all indicating many years of peace.

Hal laid another bundle on the next grave, that of a son who died at the age of fifteen on June 28, 1778 near Monmouth. The salute this time was a little longer, and Hal cleared his throat and blinked a few times before moving on to the next veteran.

Steph took the last flowers and walked towards the newest headstone in this small, forgotten cemetery... She stopped and shook her head. No, it wasn't forgotten. Someone had remembered coming here with his grandmother to lay flowers on the graves, and that someone had led to their being here, on this day and many others, when he chose this place for his final rest.

Kneeling down, she gently placed the roses in front of the white marble and traced the dates and the list of his tours of duty. Since he had worked in the same branch as Ranger and the others, there were places that could not be listed here in the stone that would soon weather, including the place where he had died.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she stood and placed her hand over her heart. When Steph bowed her head, the tears fell free to the ground.

A strong arm slid around her shoulders. "Steph."

"I'm all right," she said, wiping at her cheeks.

Ranger nudged her gently. "Babe, look up."

She glanced at him, then as he smiled and nodded towards the north, she turned her head. The sky was still cloudless but the sun had risen well above the trees by now. Squinting a bit in the brightness, her gaze swept above the forest beyond the cemetery until she heard the low rumble of jet engines.

The L-39s came in at middle altitude, a tight 4 plane V formation. As they reached the cemetery, the plane to the right of the leader pulled up towards the heavens. The others flew on, but the lone one climbed higher yet until a flare of sunlight on its skin turned it into a temporary star in the field of deepest blue.


End file.
